DAMA TA Complete Hausa Novel Document by DAMA TA

He was driving slowly in a massive Jeep called Vence, gazing at their town as if the world's suffering hadn't diminished here. He watched the people, knowing that behind the glass, he couldn’t truly experience this journey. The neighborhood was an old, working-class area, but within the city, it was known for its troublemakers and streetwise youth.  

His phone rang. He picked it up and said, *"Allah ya taimaka, ummi?"* (May God help you, Mom?) She replied, *"Kamal, I don’t want to see you."*  

He explained, *"I’m at Abba Musa’s house, saw it on the way back. Come home, he’s expecting you. Hanif is here too, my assistant is with her. Come, we’re waiting for you."*  

He asked, *"Ummi, what about Lfy?"* She said, *"Just come."*  

*"Okay,"* he said after a brief pause. His mother’s tone told him Lfy wasn’t there.  

He hung up and immediately noticed a woman walking awkwardly, her shoe nearly broken. Her hijab was badly torn, and even from behind, he could tell she needed help—something he couldn’t just ignore.  

He honked, slightly rolling down the window—just enough to be heard but not seen. He blasted the horn again, but the woman didn’t turn. He glanced once more and said, *"Hey, it’s not good to be out in this heat, g...!"*  

That was when he got a clear look at the girl—she couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16. He quickly pulled into the parking lot, initially thinking she was an old woman.  

In rough slang, he said, *"You, isn’t it bad enough under this sun with your torn hijab?"* But she still didn’t turn.  

A thought crossed his mind—*"Is she crazy?"*—before remembering how common it was in Nigeria to see people lost in their own worlds on the streets.  

At first, he assumed she was elderly and wanted to help, maybe even buy her new shoes.  

But the way she walked made him realize she wasn’t mentally unstable. He repeated, *"Your hijab is torn, and you’re walking in this heat?"*  

Then, suddenly, she turned—startled, stepping back.  

Seeing the foreigner in the car staring at her, she froze. That’s when he noticed the faint scars on her face—small but visible. Her lips were slightly chapped, not like the deep tribal marks some bore, but still striking. Her nose wasn’t long, but not too short either—just enough to complement her eyes, which held a certain depth. Masha Allah.